At the end of their first year of marriage a daughter had been born to
Clara, and some time before his trip to Pittsburgh she had told him she was
again pregnant. "She may be sitting up. I must get home," he thought, but
when he got to the bridge near the farmhouse, the bridge on which he had
stood beside Clara that first time they were together, he got out of the
road and went to sit on a fallen log at the edge of a grove of trees.

"How quiet and peaceful the night!" he thought and leaning forward held his
long, troubled face in his hands. He wondered why peace and quiet would
not come to him, why life would not let him alone. "After all, I've lived
a simple life and have done good work," he thought. "Some of the things
they've said about me are true enough. I've invented machines that save
useless labor, I've lightened men's labor."

Hugh tried to cling to that thought, but it would not stay in his mind. All
the thoughts that gave his mind peace and quiet flew away like birds seen
on a distant horizon at evening. It had been so ever since that night when
he was suddenly and unexpectedly attacked by the crazed harness maker in
the motor. Before that his mind had often been unsettled, but he knew what
he wanted. He wanted men and women and close association with men and
women. Often his problem was yet more simple. He wanted a woman, one who
would love him and lie close to him at night. He wanted the respect of his
fellows in the town where he had come to live his life. He wanted to
succeed at the particular task to which he had set his hand.

The attack made upon him by the insane harness maker had at first seemed to
settle all his problems. At the moment when the frightened and desperate
man sank his teeth and fingers into Hugh's neck, something had happened to
Clara. It was Clara who, with a strength and quickness quite amazing, had